Sitting around, greayscape metal clanging - rhythmic. Drips of water & strange oils trickling from worn machines. Surrounded by deserts on all sides. Sand-burned air, taste like gritty chalk. Digging around in some data, rather passively, mostly an automated process. Meatworkers traffic around you - as though in single file line, on a schedule, workers like bees and their slave queen. They were never afforded the luxury of upgrades, shit they were lucky to have tin shacks with some old burnt out equipment stuck behind the Unireformation's ICEwall by default. Sickly cough: black thick phlegm. You wipe it away with your tattered handkerchief scarf. Glitchy, half transparent UI flashes a bit like magnetic tape being torn, but transposed to some digital mechanic. Hisses a bit, you've been filtering through this data for weeks now - lost track of how long it's taken. Psionic wet-firmware is wearing thin. Eyes are shifty, moving across the screen, can't focus, display keeps glitching, shifting to one of the wrong modes and submodules. They won't give you a better workstation, you have to wait for that rat bastard Simon Friz to die in order to get better consideration for request by the head workbot manager. Your hand is shaky as you try to light your toxick radium exposed tobacco smoke. You drop your lighter. After grabbing it you look back up and notice your screen is off. You pulled the power cord a bit when you bent down. "Fucking shit" you think, hands still shaky. Nerves are thin as you wait endlessly for the bootjob on this piece of shit you're expected to work on...a novel thought occurs to you, so vague - in a distant voice, a whisper in a language half heard: "Maybe there's more than this? Maybe there's something better?"
1.Into the Desert
2.Keep your Shitty Job in the warehouse-like atmosphere
3.Ponder Giving up
4.Wander off in a direction
5.You are becoming a mutant.
6.Move into a burned out crashed space ship